


A Treatise On The Perils Of Excessive Involvement In The Reading Of Fiction

by Torak (awmperry)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Peter Pan - Barrie
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Spoof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awmperry/pseuds/Torak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Winner of Best Overall and Best Unusual Story Creativity in the SIYE Peter Pan Challenge)<br/>When the Room Of Requirement provides an enchanted library for Ginny to relax in, her dreams take on a strangely literary bent. Complete... for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Night In The Library

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are very much appreciated - as is constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.

##  **Prologue: Night In The Library**

*      *      *

It had been a long week, little helped by the tense atmosphere pervading Gryffindor tower — or of course the knowledge that Harry was out there somewhere, working hard to get his silly arse killed. She had barely seen him the last few days, what with his lessons with Dumbledore and all. And to make matters worse, Romilda bloody Vain — sorry, Vane, slip of the tongue — kept trailing after him like a little dog begging for table scraps.

Actually, Ginny mused, the thought of Romilda as a small female dog seemed remarkably apt.

In order to escape the stares of her housemates, which had become a mixture of sympathy and jealousy, Ginny found herself this evening wandering the night-time corridors of Hogwarts (she had, for a while, been punching the walls as she walked, though she stopped after one of the walls tried to punch back) in search of peace and quiet. It proved elusive, however, until she found herself pacing back and forth outside the Room of Requirement. Eventually the door opened, and she stepped in.

Inside, she found a library, dark and warm and gothic and Victorian. Mahogany bookcases filled the walls, their book-laden shelves glowing a deep red through a century's worth of furniture polish, brass lamps shining a warm, golden light down the face of each bookcase. A fireplace cast a flickering orange light over the room, gleaming off brass and leather.

In the centre of the room stood an oval coffee table, adorned with biscuits, sandwiches, a number of Stay-Warm Flasks, and one mug. And beside it, facing the fireplace and with a heavy brass reading lamp casting a wedge of light onto the seat from its green glass lampshade, stood a large, heavy armchair, deep red leather with burnished gold trim.

Ginny smiled wanly and stepped inside.

She paused at the table, noting with delight that one of the flasks held hot chocolate — with a goodish dose of cinnamon, if she was any judge, which she was — and snagged a custard cream. She twisted off the upper biscuit and wolfed it down, glancing at the rare moving Caravaggio over the fireplace and watching the play of the firelight over the Turner on the wall as she licked the filling off the lower biscuit.

As the last crumbs of the biscuit crumbled between her teeth, she poured a mug of hot chocolate, noting that it was just the right temperature; even the house-elves had a tendency of serving it so hot that it seared the tongue, but it seemed that in the Room of Requirement, hot chocolate was and always would be just hot enough chocolate.

She tried it.

She moaned, closing her eyes to better handle the sensations as the chocolate washed over her tongue. There was the chocolate, and yes, she'd been right about the cinnamon, and there was a fairly strong hint of vanilla as well, and... was that the tiniest smidgeon of ginger in the background?

A shiver ran through her body as she swallowed the chocolate. A second mouthful proved it; the hot chocolate was perfect.

"Oh, I don't think I ever want to leave this place," she sighed, dreamily opening her eyes.

She took another sip and started wandering around the room, browsing the shelves. A few books caught her eye, and she tilted them horizontal, sticking out from the main body of books, reminding her to revisit them later.

_War Of The Worlds_... could be interesting. _The Collected Works Of Shakespeare_, she decided, she would leave for when she had a lot of time to kill. She found a number of thick, dull-looking volumes by someone called Rowling, but there didn't seem to be anything remarkable about them. The shelf below them held dozens of dire romance novels that all seemed to have the female protagonist gasping a lot, falling in love with some right bastard, and doing anything in their power to mention heaving bosoms.

_Ice Station_ and _Seven Deadly Wonders_, on the other hand, both caught her attention, and she vowed to return to them some time when she needed a spot of brainless entertainment. The _Discworld_ novels further down the shelf fascinated her, but a quick flick through them made her conclude that if she started them she probably wouldn't be able to stop until she'd finished them all, so she moved on, earmarking the whole shelf for future reading.

The next bookcase seemed remarkably dull; _1984_, _Brave New World_, and _Farewell To Arms_ all failed to capture her imagination, as did a number of books with dramatic covers which all seemed to be about people whizzing about in spacehips and saving. planets while. trying to avoid. talking. in. complete sentences. And Thadpole Scamander's abortive attempt at a children's book, _Teenage Mutant Ninja Kneazles_, held her in horrified fascination for several seconds before she returned it to the shelf before it had a chance to break her brain.

Then came a whole shelf of fun-looking books; _Orphan Island_, _Guerrilla In The Kitchen_, _Strange Highways_, and a whole row of books by an Elizabeth Peters about a Victorian female archaeologist named Peabody, whom Ginny instantly took a liking to. She tilted out what seemed to be the first book in the series and moved along.

Finally she saw it. A thin, scruffy volume, held together more by sheer willpower than the tatty paper of its covers. "_Peter Pan_, by J M Barrie", its frontispiece proclaimed. She turned it over to read the blurb.

> "J M Barrie's beloved children's classic tells the tale of three Victorian children's induction into the magical world of Neverland, where mermaids and pirates and Indians vie for superiority, and fairies live not on oxygen but on belief. Ruler of Neverland (if you ask him, at least) is Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. Join Wendy, John and Michael as they..."

That'd do, she decided, although she couldn't quite see what was so magical about being magical. She picked up the book and wandered over to the chair, hooking a fuzzy blanket out of the basket beside the chair.

She sat, sinking into the soft, worn leather and tucking the blanket around her. She took another sip of hot chocolate, felt the same pleasantly familiar shiver, and started to read.

> _All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Ginny knew was this..._

Perhaps it was the blanket, or the chocolate. Perhaps the relaxing crackling of the fire. Or perhaps it was just Barrie's somewhat lethargic style, but very soon, Ginny fell asleep.

While she slept she had a dream.


	2. Book One - Peter Potter (Possibly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the book and only seen the film, read the book. It's available cheap, at around £2. Send a 10-shilling postal order for a free receipt.
> 
> Oh, and eagle-eyed readers might notice that one character has been cast twice, and one cast member has been used twice, or vice versa, respectively. The intelligent reader might wonder why, and the cynical might correctly deduce that it is simply because I am evil, and sarcastic, and have an exceedingly twisted sense of humour. And, of course, just because I can. Hey, it's a dream… Or is it?
> 
> Merrily, merrily, merrily, then, on we go.

##  **Book One: Peter Potter (Possibly)**

*      *      *

It was truly a mistake to have a dog as a nurse. Or at least this dog, for this dog, instead of being a large, fluffy, friendly and stolid Newfoundland, as all good nurses should be, was a large, fluffy, friendly and mildly demented dog of uncertain breed, who had a certain fondness for pranks. Mr. Darling often said that Nanfoot would have taken leave of his senses, had he had any to start with.

And so it was that Nanfoot was tonight tied in his kennel rather than occupying his customary abode in the children's nursery, for his latest prank had gone awry. Mr. Darling had been most upset that evening to find his sherry replaced by cough medicine (though some will undoubtedly say that they are much the same, and far be it from this chronicler to argue); and he had deduced — correctly, of course — from the mere presence of the prank that Nanfoot had been involved, and so had evicted the creature for the night.

Thus was then the situation at the beginning of the evening, with Nanfoot chained in the garden and Mr. and Mrs. Darling picking their way deftly through the light snow on their way to the party at No. 27, and the children mostly asleep in their beds at home, guarded by the night-lights. The children, two boys of seven and ten, and a girl of very nearly sixteen, were mostly trustworthy, and Ginny — the girl — especially so, and so Mr. and Mrs. Darling had few qualms about leaving them in her care without Nanfoot. And thus all would have been well, had not the stars been so fond of fun as to have been seduced by Harry (himself seduced by the pursuit of his lost shadow, which he had carelessly mislaid on one of his midnight japes some weeks prior) with the lure of a good prank. Anxious as they were to get the grown-ups out of the way, there was a commotion in the firmament as soon as the door of No. 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling, and the smallest of all the stars cried out:

"Now, Harry!"

*      *      *

The night-lights flickered briefly before going to sleep; though with them absent, there was another light in the room, many times brighter, and in seconds it rushed through all the drawers and pockets and wardrobes in the nursery. It came to rest on the window latch, and the glow faded as its movement ceased. It was a fairy, a girl called Tinker Vane exquisitely gowned in designer leaves, cut low, through which her figure could be clearly seen, not that Harry ever seemed to notice. She was slightly inclined to embonpoint.

She braced her feet against the latch and pulled it open, then was launched into the air as the lower sash blew open, and Harry dropped in.

"Tinker Vane," he called softly, after making sure that the children were asleep, "Tink, where are you?" She was trapped between the lower and upper sashes of the window, and mildly dazed; she kicked the glass with a harrumph, then, grumbling, squeezed through the gap at the top of the window and plunked out onto the sill.

The loveliest tinkle as of golden bells answered Harry; it is the fairy language, and given Tinker Vane's remarks it is perhaps fortunate that you ordinary people could never hear it. It is, many eminent linguistic scholars concur, a most excellent language, and also a particularly satisfying language for the more vehement expressings in which a flustered fairy might indulge; for while the majority of it consists of the mild-mannered tinkling of sleigh bells, it is not limited to such equanimity, and in much the same manner as the tolling of Big Ben may be considered greater than the gentle pling of a mantelpiece clock, so the fairy language contains a number of gratifyingly obscene clangers.

Tinker Vane knew them all, and was particularly proficient in their employ.

Nevertheless she said that his shadow could be found in the big box, by which of course she meant the chest of drawers, and Harry jumped at them, scattering their contents with both hands and, in the notable instance of one particularly unfortunate collar, his teeth. Tink, in her zeal to assist his excavations, dived in to search the pile of neatly folded bloomers, and so when Harry recovered his shadow and slammed the drawer excitedly closed, she was shut up in the drawer.

If he thought at all — which he did not, of course, for his reasoning was that someone of his obvious perfection should not need to indulge in such squalid activities as cogitation — it would have been that he and his shadow, when brought together, would flow together and join like fragments of killer robots from the future, but such was not the case, and he was perhaps not surprisingly devastated. He tried to stick it on with an old glob of chewing gum which he found under one of the beds, but that also failed. A tremor passed through Harry, and he sat on the floor and cried.

His sobs woke Ginny, and she sat up in bed.

"Boy," she said curiously, "why are you crying?"

Harry sprang to his feet instantly, and bowed, his glasses momentarily falling off his nose before reattaching themselves. She was much pleased, and bowed similarly from the bed.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Ginevra Molly Angela Darling," she replied with some satisfaction. "But you may call me Ginny. What is yours?"

"Pan. Harry Pan."

"What were you crying about?"

He wished, momentarily, that he had brought the conversation to names and addresses and letters instead, but concluded that, the gift of temporal revisions being denied him, the theoretical existence of Pan lachrymation and its application in a historical context with specific reference to the last several minutes would have to suffice, though it pained him to discuss it.

"I wasn't crying," he said rather indignantly.

"Yes you were," Ginny postulated matter-of-factly, pointing to a number of tear drops floating through the air towards the window in an attempt to remove themselves from the story before it had an opportunity to range too far into the realms of silliness but failing; they had run through the fairy dust on his cheeks as they fell, though they had as a result not fallen far; or, if they had, they had continued to do so with no noticeable increase in their proximity to the floor.

"I wasn't crying," he amended, "about monkeys. I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying."

"It has come off?" Ginny queried, deciding not to wonder who had brought up monkeys; it was a silly thing to mention with no context, and since silly things could not happen, it had not. Probably.

"Yes."

Then Ginny saw the shadow on the floor, looking bedraggled.

"It must be sewn on," she said, more than a little patronisingly.

"What's sewn?"

In reply, she withdrew a long needle from her sewing pouch and proceeded to thread it, though when she prepared to interface the point with Harry's foot, he recoiled.

"You're not bloody sticking that thing in me!"

Ginny sighed, briefly contemplating the irritations of boys and considering how fortunate it was that ibuprofen existed, or the poor dears would never shut up.

"Very well," she said, and fetched her wand from her bedside table, and pointed it at Harry's foot. "_Collumbra_." And the shadow attached itself to his foot with a sound much like that of a blue cheese omelette wrapped in a custard wig hitting a lightly annoyed bonobo monkey; it is perhaps not surprising that neither Ginny nor Harry recognised the sound. And so soon Harry's shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased.

The moment Harry noticed his shadow's newly reattached status, he had begun leaping about in wild glee, having forgotten that he owed his bliss to Ginny. "How clever I am!" he crowed, "oh, the cleverness of me!"

"You snotty arse," Ginny exclaimed, with frightful sarcasm; "of course I did nothing."

"You did a little," Harry allowed magnanimously, continuing to swoop and vault through the air in celebration.

"A little!" Ginny huffed, and sprang in the most dignified way into bed and covered her face with the blankets; as a parting gift, she had treated Harry to a demonstration which left his nose smarting for several hours thereafter.

To induce her to look up, once he had beaten off the bats, he pretended to be in pain, and when this failed he sat on the end of the bed and tapped her gently with his foot. "Ginny," he said, "don't go to sleep." Still she would not look up, though she was listening intently. "Ginny," he continued in a voice that even twenty years later would retain the ability to raise a flush strong enough to force Ginny to lie down in a dark room for a few minutes. "Ginny, one girl is more use than twenty boys."

Now Ginny was every inch a woman (another fact that had not escaped Tinker Vane, and which annoyed her immensely), and she peeped out of the bed-clothes.

"Do you really think so, Harry?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you bollocks," she grinned, "though it was an excellent attempt, and as a reward I shall get up again.

They spent the next twenty minutes or so — simply because twenty minutes is a particularly respectable interval, with much more of a period tone than the frivolous five-to-fifteen minutes so popular among young people these days, though this may have something to do with the frequency with which fifteenminutes are found in the bargain bins of even the most upmarket shops nowadays — discussing fairies and the means by which they may be most expediently exterminated, though that was perhaps not the aim of the exercise. It did not cross Ginny's mind that, while disbelief appeared to be fatal, the more arcane lores suggested that a can of permethrin and a good fly-swatter would be rather more efficient.

It was as Harry explained about the modern rarity of fairies that he realised that Tinker Vane was keeping very quiet. "I wonder where she might have got to," he said, rising, and called Tink by name.

"Harry," Ginny cried, a sudden flutter thrilling her heart, "you don't mean to tell me that there is a fairy in this very room?"

"Yes, she was here just now. You don't hear her, do you?"

"The only sound I hear," said Ginny, "is like a tinkle of bells."

_CLANG off, you great ugly girl,_ swore Tink, _and keep your CLONGing hands off my man!_

But she had said this while Harry was otherwise distracted, as he so often was by shiny objects, and so he remained oblivious to her ravings; Ginny, of course, was oblivious anyway, as she had clumsily allowed her Pimsleur Fairyish subscription to lapse. Eventually Harry heard the tingling and saw the glow through the keyhole, and realised where Tink was.

"Ginny," he whispered gleefully, "I do believe I shut her up in the drawer!"

He let poor Tink out of the drawer, and she flew about the nursery screaming with fury. "You shouldn't say such things," Harry retorted. "How could I know you were in the drawer? No, don't be silly, of course she doesn't have her head stuck up her... in any case, I'm sure it's absolutely delightful." Then, in response to a particularly resonant _BONG_, "Tink, that's a terrible thing to say."

Tinker Vane answered insolently.

"What does she say, Harry?"

"She is not very polite. She says you are a great ugly girl, and that she is my fairy."

He tried to argue with Tink. "You know you can't be my fairy, Tink, because I am a gentleman and you are a lady."

To this Tink replied with a number of choice phrases that, if translated to English, would severely increase this tale's rating. Ginny suspected that a number of them were probably anatomically impossible, or would have done had she been able to understand the words.

"She is quite a common fairy," Harry explained apologetically. "She is called Tinker Vane because she manages the cauldrons."

"She looks very small for a blacksmith," Ginny posited.

"Oh, she isn't. She is a chocolatier."

By this time Harry had flown up and perched on the brass rail at the foot of the bed, and Ginny plied him with more questions.

"If you don't live in Catchpole Gardens now —"

"Sometimes I do still."

"But where do you live mostly now?"

"With the lost boys."

"Who are they?"

"They are the children who fall out of their porridge when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days they are sent to Sometimesland to defray expenses. I'm admiral."

"What fun it must be!"

"Yes," said cunning Harry, "but we are rather lonely. You see, we have no female companionship."

"Are none of the others girls? Besides, surely no one could ever fall for that line?"

"I do not know; I've never tried it. But girls, you know, are far too clever to fall out of their breakfast."

This flattered Ginny immensely. "I think," she said, "it is perfectly delightful the way you talk about girls, although we endeavour not to fall into our breakfast in the first place."

A thought struck her; and one which was to precipitate the entire debacle that followed.

"If you have no female companionship, who is there to tell you stories?"

"We have no one."

"No one to tuck you in at night?"

"No one."

"Then I shall come with you back there," she concluded, then sagged. "Although I cannot fly," she realised, despondent. "I shall have to remain."

Harry became frightfully cunning. "I could teach you. Yes, I shall teach you to jump on the wind's back, and away we go."

"Can you teach Rohn and Nevael too?"

"If you like," he said indifferently, and Ginny ran to wake them.

"Wake up," she cried, "Harry Pan is here to teach us to fly!"

This brought them both to their feet promptly, and the first lesson (which involved leaping off the bedstead and attempting to miss the ground) ended with several bruises and many loud thuds, for it had slipped Harry's mind that happy thoughts are a mere fuel additive to the AvGas of fairy dust. The second — and last — lesson was significantly more successful, following the addition of a liberal portion of dust, which Harry applied in a manner much like an Italian waiter with a pepper mill; Tink objected to this, and once she had restored her coiffure to its usual state she glared daggers at Harry for a long time.

However, the dust had had the desired effect, and they were soon all four flitting joyously around the room.

"I say," cried Rohn when he got tired of circling the room, "why shouldn't we all go out?"

"Better yet," said Harry, "we could all go to Sometimesland."

Rohn hesitated, as did Nevael. But Ginny was eager to see how long it took her to do a billion miles.

"There are mermaids," she said.

"Oo!"

"And pirates."

"Pirates!" cried Rohn, seizing his Sunday hat. "Let us go at once!"

"Have you all you need?" Harry enquired, and they nodded. "Come on, then! Pack up, let's fly away!" he cried imperiously, and soared at once out into the night, followed by Rohn and Nevael and Ginny.

*      *      *

The flight was long and, Ginny soon found, dangerous; the three of them (not Harry, of course) were sleepy, and that was a danger, for the moment they popped off, down they fell. The terrible thing was that Harry thought this funny.

"There he goes again!" he would cry gleefully, as Nevael suddenly dropped like a stone.

"Save him, save him!" cried Ginny, looking with horror at the cruel sea far below. Eventually Harry would dive down and catch Nevael just before he could strike the sea; but he always waited until the last moment, and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of life. Also he was fond of variety, and the sport that amused him one moment would suddenly cease to engage him, so there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go.

He could...

> _...Ginny stirred, frowning in her sleep. Something was wrong. That didn't sound like Harry, caring, kind Harry...  
> She adjusted the dream. A tweak here, a tweak there, and Harry was much more to her liking..._

...sleep in the air without falling, by merely lying on his back and floating, and you could get behind him and blow, and he would go faster.

Now Nevael was nodding off again, but before he could doze off fully, Harry was at his side, shaking his shoulder to wake him.

> _...Ginny smiled in her sleep..._

Eventually, after many days of flight, they saw it in the distance; perhaps not so much because of the guidance of Harry as because the island was seeking them out.

Ginny and Rohn and Nevael stood on tip-toe in the air to get their first sight of the island. Curiously, they all recognised it at once. They welcomed it as one might an old friend, though their joy was gradually replaced by fear as night rolled in and wrapped the island in velvet blackness, grim shadows rolling over the shores and through the forests, and the roar of the beasts of prey becoming quite changed.

They drifted lower, their feet occasionally brushing a treetop. Rustles and crashes drifted up from the darkness below them, as unseen beasts roamed beneath the foliage. Harry paused occasionally, listening intently, staring down with eyes that seemed to bore holes in the earth. Eventually he stopped and turned to them.

"Would you like an adventure now, or would you like to have your tea first?"

"What kind of adventure?" Rohn asked cautiously.

"There's a pirate asleep in the pampas just beneath us," Harry told him. "If you like, we'll go down and kill him."

"Tea first," Ginny said decisively, and they sat on a cloud for tea. As they nibbled, Rohn continued his enquiries.

"Are there many pirates on the island just now?"

"I have never known so many."

"Who is captain now?"

"Hook," answered Harry, and his face became very stern as he said that hated word.

"Jas. Hook?"

"Aye."

This sobered them all, for they knew Hook's reputation.

"He was Toadbridge Blackbeard's bo'sun," Rohn whispered. "The worst of them all, the only man of whom Benbecula is afraid."

*      *      *

"Smee, the butter."

As the diligent reader may gather, the sentence was uttered by James Hook, pirate. He was a tall man, sallow face and hooked nose shrouded by a curtain of lank black hair. There was a metallic click as he replaced the hook on his right hand with a butter knife, which slotted cleanly into the socket where his hand had once been.

He picked up a crumpet and buttered it liberally; heavily buttered crumpets were one of his better-known secret passions, while his less-known ones included mah jong, sneering, and tending the four rabbits he kept hidden in his quarters; Albus, Nymfitonk, Black-eye and Tom (whom he had believed to be male until Tom laid an egg; but by then Tom had learned to respond to the name, and so it remained).

He gazed evenly at the nervous figure who sat before him by the for'ard side of the table.

"Gordon Tawnick, our new... recruit..."

> _...that's not right, Ginny thought, grumbling in her sleep, and changed the story..._

Hook's form wavered and shifted; his face grew long and elegant, his hair changed to fall in long, flowing blond locks, the sneering and belligerent expression on his face changed to a disinterested hauteur, and his bearing straightened imperceptibly. Steely grey eyes pinned Tawnick to his seat.

"Will you swear allegiance to me?"

"A... aye."

"Will you swear, 'Down with the king'?"

"D... down with the king?"

"This is Mr. Smee, my Bo'sun. You defer to him on all things. Your task is to do anything he or I tell you to. Given the opportunity, you are to acquire valuables, and loot of any notable description." He gestured to a caped figure with lank black hair and a hooked nose, who stood, lurking, in the shadows of the corner. "When we have captured our loot, we send it hence to the hold to be processed by this sallow fellow, Processor Snape. This is vital for you to know, for anything heavy is your task to carry."

Tawnick blinked, but gulped and nodded. "Ay... aye-aye, captain."

Hook waved him off toward the door. "Mr. Smee, take him away and show him the ropes. And the capstans."

He bit into his crumpet, and was about to begin on his twelfth when he heard the lookout call: "Pan's firefly in the sky! Three o'clock high!" On hearing this, Hook leaped to his feet, scattering the plates, and shouted, "Ready Long Tom!"

*      *      *

They had found their tea most pleasant, having spread their picnic out on a handy cloud, and they would have enjoyed the Dundee cake in the centre of the blanket as well had they not been interrupted by a tremendous boom from below, and the cake vanished, leaving only a broad hole in the cloud. The pirates had fired Long Tom at them.

We of course know that no one had been hit; Ginny, however, was blown upwards by the wind of the shot with no companion but Tinker Vane. We cannot know whether the idea came suddenly to Tink, or whether she had planned it on the way, but she at once popped out of the hat and began to lure Ginny to her destruction.

Tink was not all bad; or, rather, she was all bad just now, and tended to be in all cases involving potential rivals for Harry's affections, but on the other hand sometimes she was very slightly good. At present she was full of jealousy of Ginny, and while Ginny could of course not understand the language, it sounded kind, and Tink flew back and forth, clearly meaning "Follow me, and all will be well."

Ginny did not yet know that Tink hated her with the fierce hatred of a very irritated hatredy thing. And so, bewildered, she followed Tink to her doom.

*      *      *

On this evening the chief forces of the island were disposed as follows. The lost boys were out looking for Peter; the pirates were out looking for the lost boys; the redskins were out playing baseball, the Indians were out looking for the pirates, and the beasts were out looking for lunch. They were going round and round the island, but they did not meet, because all were going the same way, except for a cunning wildcat who thought of going back the opposite direction, and returned to his lair with an exceedingly satisfied expression on his face, a lethargic and well fed demeanour, and a bloodied shred of pirate neckerchief dangling from one tooth.

The boys on the island vary in number, according as they get killed and when they seem to be growing up, at which point they are thinned out by Harry; but at the moment there were six of them, counting the twins as two. They are forbidden by Harry to look in the least like him, and thus they have taken to wearing fancy dress. It is considered remarkably good camouflage, and has proved effective on many occasions as the pirates consider that the white and red blurs in the woods could not possibly be an enemy, since nobody would be stupid enough to try to hide while wearing a clown costume. This, as we shall see, demonstrates that the boys have some degree of intelligence, albeit of a peculiarly specialised sort, and judged in quality only against that of the pirates, which is perhaps not such a good indicator.

The first in the line is Tootles, not the least brave but the most unfortunate of that gallant band, for all the excitement happens when he has passed out of frame; thus he has less screen time than any of the others, and so gets paid a relative pittance. He was, however, particularly proficient with his bow; for this reason, and his distinctly limited intellect, Tink, who was bent on fatal mischief this night, had concluded that he would be the best tool for her dastardly scheme.

Next comes Nibs, the gay and debonair, who had found himself in a number of awkward misunderstandings, followed by Slightly Corner, who cuts small but elaborate saxophones out of branches and dances to his own tunes. He is the most conceited of the boys; he thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, and fancies himself as something of a Casanova (or fancies that he would be, had he any casas to nova), and this has given his nose an offensive tilt. Curly is fourth, and last come the twins, whose pockets it is unwise to search without caution, lest one find things that should not be found. They tend toward the exothermic.

Here they pass a river, where a crocodile floats silently by; Curly grins at it and points, and is instantly rebuked by Slightly; "Curly, you should know better! Never smile at a crocodile!"

Thus then was the situation when they came upon Tink, who advised them of the presence of an evil Ginny Bird come to kill them all: "Harry wants you to shoot the Ginny!"

Tootles, being the only one carrying his bow at the time, excitedly nocked an arrow, fired, and Ginny fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast.

*      *      *

Ginny woke some time later to hear crying, and scolding voices.

"Listen to Tink, she is crying because the Ginny lives."

"Tinker Vane," Harry's voice drifted in, "I am your friend no more. Begone from me for ever."

There was a tinkling.

"Well, for a whole week at least."

She sat up, looking around to find herself in a small hut that seemed to have built around her of branches and woven leaves.

_Hark to that, the Ginny lives, in spite of Tinker's crime,  
Great news for Tootles poor,  
Such shame that Harry thinks songs queer,  
And still it doesn't rhyme._

Harry had grown used to the poor quality of the boys' songs; however, after that particularly egregious example Harry decided that the random singing of fairly preposterous songs was rather silly; and the boys did so no more.

Ginny was not concerned about the song, however, and in fact found the whole experience rather flattering, particularly as the boys scurried about to decorate the house to her liking. Before she knew it she had been shanghaied as their mother, and would have found herself picking up socks within minutes had they been aware of the existence of socks.

Her reunion with her brothers also included an introduction of the lost boys, and a summarised — if incoherent — narrative of the events that had led to the hole in her nightgown and the dent in the button on its cord around her neck, and so her joy at being reunited with Harry and her brothers was tempered by her fury at Tink's attempt on her life. But Tink had been exiled, and Ginny was kept busy with cooking and tidying and, more than anything else, telling stories.

She took to setting examinations for her brothers to ensure that they did not forget their parents, but stopped short of inventing silly acronyms for them.

One day not long after, Harry was surprised to find Slightly Corner stroll past him with a black eye, whistling an old wartime song.

"What happened to him?" he asked Ginny, who was coming from the same direction; she showed him her wand.

"He was trying to get a bit too friendly, so I hit him with my famous Colonel Bogey hex."

And so passed a great deal of time on the island with Harry and the lost boys, and even Ginny ultimately began to lose track of time, and began to forget about the life she had formerly known. Through the many months that passed — though the passage of time was not any form that we would recognise — they had a great many adventures.

To describe them all would require an immensely large book, and the most we can do is give one — or perhaps extracts of two — as a specimen of life on the island. The difficulty is which one to choose. The brush with the redskins at Slightly Gulch, which ended with the redskins agreeing to be the lost boys for the day, after Harry had a whim to be a redskin for the duration of the battle; naturally the lost boys all followed suit, and so the battle would have been terribly one-sided had not the redskins agreed to make up the numbers as lost boys.

Or perhaps the adventure in which Harry saved Tiger Ronni's life in the Mermaids' Lagoon, so making her his ally. Or the cake the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish; but always Ginny snatched it from the hands of her children, so that in time it lost its succulence, was used as a drop trap to brain a hippopotamus, was used as a missile, and eventually was carelessly left near the bay, where Hook fell over it in the dark.

But a shorter adventure, and quite as exciting, was Tinker Vane's attempt, with the help of some street fairies, to have the sleeping Ginny conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland.

Indeed, let us tell that one, for it is perhaps the one most indicative of Tink's vicious and homicidal streak, which could perhaps soften the blow were anything to happen to her.

*      *      *

It had started in a clearing some miles distant, where Tinker Vane often went with her friends to lounge about and indulge in antisocial behaviour, like wearing hoodies and flying around at all hours of the night singing loudly, or getting drunk and passing out on the path, or carrying concealed knives to rob elderly mayflies. The local law enforcement fairies dared not enter their sod for fear of the mean street fairies who dwelt there. Only the Procurator Fairy, Krupke, was tolerated by them, and even he was ridiculed.

On this occasion they sat under a fern smoking Caterpillars and listening to Tink, who was raving. While a translation will not be forthcoming, and a full transcript in Fairy would do little but confuse the reader, it can be summarised thus:

**TINK: ** "The Ginny will steal my Harry if not stopped."

**JET: ** "Then we must stop her."

**TINK: ** "But how? If we kill her Harry will surely know."

**BARRACUDA: ** "Only if he sees it."

**TINK: ** "He sees everything that happens on the island."

**JET:** "Yes. So we do not kill her on the island. We shall need a large leaf..."

And so it was that, the very next night, Ginny lay oblivious on a large leaf as it was carried through the air and gently set down on the sea far from the island, where the fairies felt the current might draw it towards the mainland. Tink returned to the island to aid the search — if there was a search — and to avoid suspicion, while Jet Venturi remained on the leaf to end Ginny.

She had made one vital mistake, however, in failing to consider three vital things, namely that she was a mere inch above the water; that the sea is inhabited; and that fairies, to the uneducated eye, look a great deal like flying insects.

As Jet raised the knife to cut Ginny's throat, a large fish plunged up out of the water, swallowed Jet whole and fell back into the depths with a glop.

Ginny awoke several hours later, naturally shocked to find herself all at sea; but she was fortunate in that the tides (another thing Tink and her friends had neglected) had drawn her back near the island, close enough that she was able, using the leaf as a flotation aid, to swim back to land.

*      *      *

As she hove near, Ginny saw a great commotion on the shore; the lost boys and the redskins, most carrying flaming torches, scurried about; looking for her. The Indians soon disappeared back into the jungle, while the boys continued their search. One pointed out to sea and saw her; he called the others, and with their help Ginny was soon ashore.

She dragged herself up the beach, aided by the lost boys, when suddenly the ambush was sprung. Pirates swarmed over them from every side, and soon the battle was in full swing. Many pirates were killed in the battle, for there were a great many of them and very few lost boys, so when the pirates swung their cutlasses they tended to strike down their friends rather than their foes. One pirate seized Ginny and tried to tie her wrists, but she fought him off and retreated. She reconsidered, however, when she saw a pirate swing a cutlass at Curly.

"Stop!" she cried, as the cruel blade detached Curly's hand. "I'll let you tie me up, but do not kill them!" This they did, and the lost boys followed her example, and soon they were blindfolded and paraded through the forest in ropes. The ground changed beneath their feet as they passed across a beach, then into a jolly, then they were made to blindly climb a ladder onto the deck of Hook's ship, where they were securely lashed to a capstan.

Then, as her blindfold was removed, Ginny saw Hook. Her eyes widened as she saw his flowing locks, and, seeing that the pirates' attention was elsewhere, she leaned as far towards Rohn as she could.

"Rohn, do you see Hook's wig?"

"That's a wig?"

"We must retrieve it and bring it back with us to London!"

"Why?"

"Do you not recognise it? It is the fabled Hair of Gryffindor!"

Rohn and Nevael let out a gasp so loud as to draw the attention of Hook, and he turned toward them, smearing an ingratiating smile across his face.

"Children, do you know who I am?"

"I know thee well, Sir," said Rohn, who had had a classical education. "Y'are a fishmonger." This remark appeared to rile Hook more than Rohn had anticipated, for Hook began pacing back and forth, muttering "Bloody codfish" under his breath. Then he stopped, and ceased his raving.

"Harry Pan is no more, children. You know that, don't you? I poisoned him earlier, left a whole box of poisoned chocolate cauldrons on his table. There is no way he could survive them, aha."

Ginny was suddenly stricken, but seeing a speck in the sky over Hook's shoulder she was caught by a flash of inspiration.

"What will you do with us?"

"You may join my crew if you wish; otherwise you will die."

"I think," Ginny mused slowly, "that I would rather not die. How would I be named?"

Hook cast an appraising glance over her, noting her glowing red hair, and cocked his head.

"You are Ginny?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall call you 'Red-Headed Gin'." He yanked a short, nervous-looking man from the crew and bade him cut her loose. "This is Tawnick; he shall be your sidekick, such as every true pirate must have."

"Gin and Tawnick," Ginny mused, nodding; "I like the sound of that. Would you arrange a hook in lieu of Curly's hand?"

"Not a hook, but I'm sure something can be arranged. But not a hook. I have one, it is my name... too many hooks spoil the ship."

"Fair enough." She rose, rubbing her sore wrists. "You are quite sure Harry is dead?" A curious smile crossed her face as her eyes locked on something behind Hook.

"My plan could not have failed," Hook sneered, "unless..."

"Unless someone intercepted the chocolates," Harry said, dropping lightly to the deck behind Hook, barely disguising the venom in his tone. "Unless Tinker Vane ate them first."

He gently placed Tink's still body on the planking, and glared at Hook, who grinned broadly back at him once the shock passed. "Nevertheless. She was not the intended target; however, she will do. She was quite infuriating enough."

"Save her."

"There is no antidote, you credulous fool! Nothing can save her now, nothing except..."

A mumbled chant from the capstan interrupted him.

"I do believe in fairies, I do..."

A moment later the other boys took up the chant, and soon almost every voice joined them. And _almost_ every eye was fixed on the shocked Hook.

Ginny's eyes were not.

Then, suddenly, the belief reached critical mass.

Tinker Vane gasped, drawing in a frenzied breath as the colour returned to her face. She was about to rise and lunge for Harry, who had his back turned, when she was swiftly crushed beneath a small and perfectly polished shoe.

"Whoops," said Ginny, nonchalantly.

*      *      *

This was all she said for some time, for the deck erupted into a melee of quite savage proportions. The swirling battle had erased the evidence of Tink's execution, and it was not until Ginny told Harry about Tink's many attempts on her life that he began to suspect the truth. Under the circumstances, of course, he could not blame her, particularly as there was no proof; he forgot all about Tinker Vane within a day, and never thought of her again.

They commandeered the _Jolly Roger_ and sailed it around for a few days for a lark, occasionally bringing up food to the now rather seasick James Hook, chained up in the fo'csle. And then, only a week after the battle, Ginny took Harry aside and told him the words he had expected never to hear.

"Harry, it's time for us to go home. Nevael, Rohn and I, we are going. This evening. Will you join us on the flight?"

He did, of course, and with great reluctance; but somehow, allowing her to leave Sometimesland for the first time in his life was something that to Harry mattered more than his amusement.

And so that night they were back in the nursery, and were met by Nanfoot, who had maintained a constant vigil. And the Darlings found themselves with six children to spare; "They followed me home," Ginny had said, gesturing to the lost boys. "May I keep them?"

*      *      *

They met often at night over the following months, and over time Harry had more and more difficulty forgetting Ginny; while he did not wish to abandon Ginny, nor did he have any wish to abandon Sometimesland. And so they had compromised, spending most nights out flying together.

It was after such a nightly excursion that they now alighted through the window of Ginny's room, which she had to herself after her and her brothers' earlier disappearance, as dawn broke on the horizon, Ginny holding Harry's hand fondly.

"You are sure you will not return with me?" he asked plaintively, but she shook her head.

"I can't," she said sadly, "I must grow up. But you are perfectly welcome to remain here with me."

At this he shook his head; "No — I must not grow up. But..."

Harry winced and frowned, his face contorting as a stab of unfamiliar pain assailed his jaw. He poked his thumb and forefinger inside and withdrew the small tooth that had shaken loose; already, he felt, a new and larger one was growing in to take its place. He stared in disbelief at the tooth.

Ginny patted the bed beside her, casting a glance at Harry. "Please come here and sit down," she said, and he did, though his face still bore a shocked expression. "Come, give me the tooth; put it under my pillow, and wait until morning; by then it will have transmuted into a gold sovereign." Ginny leaned in and gently prodded his cheek. "Shall I kiss it and make it better?"

Harry glanced up, confused, then nodded. She kissed him, on the cheek just above the ache. Then she kissed him again, on the mouth.

Unfamiliar sensations flowed through him, thoughts and feelings he had never experienced. He returned the kiss awkwardly, stumbling a peck onto her smiling mouth.

All children, except one, grow up. And, later that night, he did too.


	3. The Crib Sheet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crib sheet, for those who could use a hint or two. ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Annotated Pratchett Files, and following in the footsteps of KSchneyer, here by popular request is a cheat sheet to help readers spot the many mildly insane references and in-jokes in this fic. Baby, ain't I good to you? (Which was, by the way, a bloody terrific tune.)
> 
> This "chapter" will remain at the end, and will be updated as and when new chapters come along.

##  **The Crib Sheet**

*      *      *

  


###  **Prologue: A Night In The Library**

> _She moaned, closing her eyes to better handle the sensations as the chocolate washed over her tongue. There was the chocolate, and yes, she'd been right about the cinnamon, and there was a fairly strong hint of vanilla as well, and... was that the tiniest smidgeon of ginger in the background?  
> A shiver ran through her body as she swallowed the chocolate. A second mouthful proved it; the hot chocolate was perfect.  
> "Oh, I don't think I ever want to leave this place," she sighed, dreamily opening her eyes._

As one or two of you have already noted, yes, this is intended as slightly more than at first glance. It's based on someone I once knew who was, shall we say, _very_ keen on hot chocolate, and who told me that she tended to, um, react physically to drinking it. React physically in a way that convinced her that it was best to only drink it in private, if you get my drift. So I thought it would be amusing to reference that reaction here - and simultaneously have a bit of a dig at the "OMG Think Of The Kiddies!!!" brigade... ;-)

=   =    =    =    =

> _She found a number of thick, dull-looking volumes by someone called Rowling, but there didn't seem to be anything remarkable about them. The shelf below them held dozens of dire romance novels that all seemed to have the female protagonist gasping a lot, falling in love with some right bastard, and doing anything in their power to mention heaving bosoms._

The first batch are obviously Potter books - and they _do_ look dull when you just see them on the shelf, don't they? Anyway, the second batch is Mills &amp; Boon, and I just couldn't find any way to tastefully add "throbbing" anywhere.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Ice Station and Seven Deadly Wonders, on the other hand, both caught her attention, and she vowed to return to them some time when she needed a spot of brainless entertainment. The Discworld novels further down the shelf fascinated her, but a quick flick through them made her conclude that if she started them she probably wouldn't be able to stop until she'd finished them all, so she moved on, earmarking the whole shelf for future reading._

_Ice Station_ and _Seven Deadly Wonders_ are adventure books by the Australian writer Matthew Reilly; they're deliberately written as the literary equivalent of big-budget action movies. Light on plot and heavy on action and one-liners, they're good for just what Ginny said - a spot of brainless entertainment. Read _Scarecrow_ to see the hero grinding a car, skateboard-style, along a roadside guard rail... But start with _Ice Station_, then _Area 7_.

Terry Pratchett, of course, is the master of comic fantasy, the only one who makes up fantasy cities and then wonders how they _work_. And yes, they are addictive, and yes, I've read them all.

=   =    =    =    =

> _as did a number of books with dramatic covers which all seemed to be about people whizzing about in spacehips and saving. planets while. trying to avoid. talking. in. complete sentences. And Thadpole Scamander's abortive attempt at a children's book, Teenage Mutant Ninja Kneazles,_

The first part here is a reference to Star Trek and Kirk's speech impediment, while the second - and isn't "Thadpole" a great name? - a barely-veiled reference to the Turtles. But you knew that.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Orphan Island, Guerrilla In The Kitchen, Strange Highways, and a whole row of books by an Elizabeth Peters about a Victorian female archaeologist named Peabody,_

All books worth reading; particularly the Amelia Peabody books look dull at first glance but aren't. Think of Amelia as a late Victorian female cross between Indiana Jones and Hercule Poirot, and you're not far off.

=   =    =    =    =

> _While she slept she had a dream._

A direct quote from _Peter Pan_, almost.

*      *      *

  


###  **Book One: Peter Potter (Possibly)**

> _Send a 10-shilling postal order for a free receipt._

A direct quote from The Goon Show - from _The Mysterious Punch-Up-The-Conker_, I think.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Hey, it's a dream... Or is it?  
> Merrily, merrily, merrily, then, on we go._

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream. Need I say more?

> _Or at least this dog, for this dog, instead of being a large, fluffy, friendly and stolid Newfoundland, as all good nurses should be, was a large, fluffy, friendly and mildly demented dog of uncertain breed, who had a certain fondness for pranks. Mr. Darling often said that Nanfoot would have taken leave of his senses, had he had any to start with._

Nana + Padfoot = Nanfoot. Yup, Sirius has become a nanny.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Mr. Darling had been most upset that evening to find his sherry replaced by cough medicine (though some will undoubtedly say that they are much the same, and far be it from this chronicler to argue)_

This is a reversal of the gag in the book where Mr Darling replaces Nana's milk with medicine. And I don't like booze. I don't mind it on principle (I absolutely abhor drunkenness, though, but that's beside the point), but I can't stand the taste.

=   =    =    =    =

> _And thus all would have been well, had not the stars been so fond of fun as to have been seduced by Harry (himself seduced by the pursuit of his lost shadow, which he had carelessly mislaid on one of his midnight japes some weeks prior) with the lure of a good prank. Anxious as they were to get the grown-ups out of the way, there was a commotion in the firmament as soon as the door of No. 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling, and the smallest of all the stars cried out:  
> "Now, Harry!"_

This, like much of the story, is based almost word for word on Barrie's book, and heavily edited. Actually, most of the verbatim stuff ends after the bedroom scene; I went to great pains to emulate Barrie's style, and it is an absolute _pig_ to do...

=   =    =    =    =

> _It was a fairy, a girl called Tinker Vane exquisitely gowned in designer leaves, cut low, through which her figure could be clearly seen, not that Harry ever seemed to notice._

Tinker Bell is played by Romilda Vane - and is, of course, murderously jealous of Harry. It also explains why Tink is described with such a revealing dress in the book (yup - apart from the "not that he ever noticed" bit, that's a direct quote).

=   =    =    =    =

> _If he thought at all [...] it would have been that he and his shadow, when brought together, would flow together and join like fragments of killer robots from the future..._

A reference to the T-1000 in _Terminator 2_. You may see a similar reference in the as yet unpublished epilogue to my story _Hollywood Or What_.

=   =    =    =    =

> _He wished, momentarily, that he had brought the conversation to names and addresses and letters instead..._

In the book, that's the conversation that leads Wendy to realise that Peter has no mother. In this, Ginny's rather more proactive...

=   =    =    =    =

> _"I wasn't crying," he amended, "about monkeys."_

Did that break your brain? Did you spend half an hour hunting through my stories to see where the bloody monkeys came from? My mum did, and was terribly confused. And, well, there is no setup for that. It's just out of the blue. What can I say, I like playing with people's heads...

=   =    =    =    =

> _"Collumbra." And the shadow attached itself to his foot with a sound much like that of a blue cheese omelette wrapped in a custard wig hitting a lightly annoyed bonobo monkey; it is perhaps not surprising that neither Ginny nor Harry recognised the sound._

"Collumbra" is based on the French "coller" ("to glue") and the Latin "umbra", or shadow. And the sound effect is based on Spike Milligan's habit, while writing The Goon Show, of writing sound effects to challenge the BBC's Radiophonic Workshop; specifically, the sound effect which called for someone to be hit with a sockful of custard.

=   =    =    =    =

> _as a parting gift, she had treated Harry to a demonstration which left his nose smarting for several hours thereafter._

This is as close as I've ever come to showing the Bat-Bogey Hex. I despise Rowling's constant snot jokes, and I don't have much time for the fandom concept that Ginny knows one hex and one hex only, which is why I hope never to have her cast the blasted thing. Just this once, and just as a dig at... well, its overuse in fanon.

=   =    =    =    =

> _They spent the next twenty minutes or so – simply because twenty minutes is a particularly respectable interval, with much more of a period tone than the frivolous five-to-fifteen minutes so popular among young people these days, though this may have something to do with the frequency with which fifteenminutes are found in the bargain bins of even the most upmarket shops nowadays – discussing fairies and the means by which they may be most expediently exterminated, though that was perhaps not the aim of the exercise. It did not cross Ginny's mind that, while disbelief appeared to be fatal, the more arcane lores suggested that a can of permethrin and a good fly-swatter would be rather more efficient._

The first part refers to the entirely subjective fact that I've rarely seen intervals of 5-15 minutes mentioned in fiction from the Victorian era. The second part is a summation of the long discussion in the book about fairies needing to be believed in. And the third part is just a reference to bug spray.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Ginny, of course, was oblivious anyway, as she had clumsily allowed her Pimsleur Fairyish subscription to lapse._

Pimsleur is a producer of language courses.

=   =    =    =    =

> __
> 
> _"She is quite a common fairy," Harry explained apologetically. "She is called Tinker Vane because she manages the cauldrons."_
> 
> _"She looks very small for a blacksmith," Ginny posited._
> 
> _"Oh, she isn't. She is a chocolatier."_

In the book, Tinker Bell is described as being a tinker, or someone who works with making pots, pans and things. In this case, it's a reference to the Chocolate Cauldrons in HBP.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"If you don't live in Catchpole Gardens now –"_

A combination of the Kensington Gardens of the book and Ottery St Catchpole from HP.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"They are the children who fall out of their porridge when the nurse is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days they are sent to Sometimesland to defray expenses. I'm admiral."_

The book has them falling out of their prams (or "perambulators", as the book puts it); I decided porridge was funnier. I changed Neverland on grounds of excessive predictability. And I promoted Harry a notch.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"Can you teach Rohn and Nevael too?"_

"John" is pronounced exactly like "Ron" except for the first letter, so I changed it. And the last syllables of "Neville" and "Michael" are pronounced identically, so it was an easy swap.

=   =    =    =    =

> _the AvGas of fairy dust_

AvGas, or Aviation Gasoline, is what most propeller aircraft fly on. Jets run on the rather more prosaic "Jet Fuel A1".

=   =    =    =    =

> _"Come on, then! Pack up, let's fly away!"_

"Pack up, let's fly away" is the last line in Frank Sinatra's version of "Come Fly With Me".

=   =    =    =    =

> _Eventually Harry would dive down and catch Nevael just before he could strike the sea; but he always waited until the last moment, and you felt it was his cleverness that interested him and not the saving of life. Also he was fond of variety, and the sport that amused him one moment would suddenly cease to engage him, so there was always the possibility that the next time you fell he would let you go._

In the book, Peter Pan is a right little bastard, and really is unsuitable to be portrayed by Harry; so since Ginny was dreaming, I had her change it.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"He was Toadbridge Blackbeard's bo'sun," Rohn whispered. "The worst of them all, the only man of whom Benbecula is afraid."_

In the book, Hook is described as "Blackbeard's bo'sun, the only man Barbecue ever feared." So I added a name to Blackbeard, combining "Toad" and "Umbridge", and added a joke to "Barbecue" by removing the joke, if that makes any sense. Oh, and Benbecula is a British island. Up around the Shetlands or somewhere, I think.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"Smee, the butter."_

James Hook, evil, cruel, vicious pirate. What better way of introducing such a villain than eating crumpets slathered in butter? Anyway, at this stage he's portrayed as Snape, as per the challenge. But the challenge said nothing about how long Snape had to play him...

=   =    =    =    =

> _heavily buttered crumpets were one of his better-known secret passions, while his less-known ones included mah jong, sneering, and tending the four rabbits he kept hidden in his quarters; Albus, Nymfitonk, Black-eye and Tom (whom he had believed to be male until Tom laid an egg; but by then Tom had learned to respond to the name, and so it remained)._

Sneering, obviously, is a Snape trait. The rabbits are Albus (Dumbles, obviously), Nymphadora Tonks, Mad-Eye after a fight, and Tom (Riddle), who's been tragically emasculated. The egg thing is a reference to one of the parrots my sister tends at Blackpool Zoo, who was named Rick before she laid an egg. The parrot, that is, not my sister.

As a side note, this was deliberately written as one of my brain-breakers; the reasoning is that most people have heard of pet parrots believed to be male until they lay eggs (since they're sexually monomorphic, it's one of the few ways to tell), combined with the cultural conditioning that has most of us subconsciously connecting [easter] bunnies with [easter] eggs, so the juxtaposition of rabbits laying eggs here doesn't usually get noticed until people are on their third or fourth read-through. Psychology - a boon for evil comedians everywhere.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"Gordon Tawnick, our new... recruit..."  
> ...that's not right, Ginny thought, grumbling in her sleep, and changed the story...  
> Hook's form wavered and shifted; his face grew long and elegant, his hair changed to fall in long, flowing blond locks, the sneering and belligerent expression on his face changed to a disinterested hauteur, and his bearing straightened imperceptibly. Steely grey eyes pinned Tawnick to his seat._

Gordon Tawnick (as in "Gordon's Gin") is here for several reasons. Firstly, as a setup for a dreadful joke coming up later. Secondly, as a reason to cut away from Harry and his merry band for Hook's introduction. And thirdly, as a vehicle for Hook's Snape reference: "Our new... recruit."

The change, by the way, is for two reasons. Snape really doesn't work for me as Hook, and secondly, Hook was played in the 2003 film by Jason Isaacs, who, of course, plays Lucius Malfoy. Thus the hair.

=   =    =    =    =

> _"When we have captured our loot, we send it hence to the hold to be processed by this sallow fellow, Processor Snape."_

In the challenge specification, it says that Hook has to be played by "Processor [sic] Snape". Obviously a typo, bu you know me - you just mustn't give me a feed line like that, or things like this happen.

=   =    =    =    =

> _The lost boys were out looking for Peter; the pirates were out looking for the lost boys; the redskins were out playing baseball, the Indians were out looking for the pirates, and the beasts were out looking for lunch. They were going round and round the island, but they did not meet, because all were going the same way, except for a cunning wildcat who thought of going back the opposite direction, and returned to his lair with an exceedingly satisfied expression on his face, a lethargic and well fed demeanour, and a bloodied shred of pirate neckerchief dangling from one tooth._

The description is lifted almost straight from the book, except for a diversion where I refer to the Redskins sporting team. I couldn't remember if they play baseball or American Football or basketball or what, though, so I took a stab at baseball, which is closest to cricket, where (just like this chase) not a lot happens. And I thought it would be fun if there was at least one intelligent creature on the island.

=   =    =    =    =

> _The first in the line is Tootles, not the least brave but the most unfortunate of that gallant band, for all the excitement happens when he has passed out of frame; thus he has less screen time than any of the others, and so gets paid a relative pittance._

This is much the same as he's described in the book - always missing the action - except I extend the reasoning beyond its logical conclusion into a film reference. Fairly simple.

=   =    =    =    =

> _Next comes Nibs, the gay and debonair, who had found himself in a number of awkward misunderstandings, followed by Slightly Corner, who cuts small but elaborate saxophones out of branches and dances to his own tunes. He is the most conceited of the boys; he thinks he remembers the days before he was lost, and fancies himself as something of a Casanova (or fancies that he would be, had he any casas to nova), and this has given his nose an offensive tilt. Curly is fourth, and last come the twins, whose pockets it is unwise to search without caution, lest one find things that should not be found. They tend toward the exothermic._

Nibs demonstrates a dig at slashfic; Slightly is a Michael Corner reference, just because the name worked so well... and another reason which will become apparent. In the book he cuts flutes; but saxophones are more fun. The Twins, obviously, are the twins.

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> _"Curly, you should know better! Never smile at a crocodile!"_

Simple, really; a reference to "Never Smile At A Crocodile", arguably the most famous song from Disney's _Peter Pan_. Interestingly, while the melody was used in several themes throughout the film, the song doesn't; it was cut and has apparently never featured in any version of the film. So now you know. See? Reading my fics is educational.

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> _Hark to that, the Ginny lives, in spite of Tinker's crime, / Great news for Tootles poor, / Such shame that Harry thinks songs queer, / And still it doesn't rhyme.  
> Harry had grown used to the poor quality of the boys' songs; however, after that particularly egregious example Harry decided that the random singing of fairly preposterous songs was rather silly; and the boys did so no more._

This is just because Barrie, like so many children's authors of his time, was inordinately keen on adding stupid little songs and rhymes and things. So I spoofed it to shreds. The song, by the way, is written on _exactly_ the same structure as in the book.

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> _She took to setting examinations for her brothers to ensure that they did not forget their parents, but stopped short of inventing silly acronyms for them._

"N.E.W.T." "O.W.L." What was Rowling smoking?

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> _One day not long after, Harry was surprised to find Slightly Corner stroll past him with a black eye, whistling an old wartime song.  
> "What happened to him?" he asked Ginny, who was coming from the same direction; she showed him her wand.  
> "He was trying to get a bit too friendly, so I hit him with my famous Colonel Bogey hex."_

Bat Bogey ==&gt; Colonel Bogey. Great tune, too. Again, another dig at the overuse of that bloody spell.

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> _To describe them all would require an immensely large book, and the most we can do is give one – or perhaps extracts of two – as a specimen of life on the island. The difficulty is which one to choose. The brush with the redskins at Slightly Gulch, which ended with the redskins agreeing to be the lost boys for the day, after Harry had a whim to be a redskin for the duration of the battle; naturally the lost boys all followed suit, and so the battle would have been terribly one-sided had not the redskins agreed to make up the numbers as lost boys.  
> Or perhaps the adventure in which Harry saved Tiger Ronni's life in the Mermaids' Lagoon, so making her his ally. Or the cake the pirates cooked so that the boys might eat it and perish; but always Ginny snatched it from the hands of her children, so that in time it lost its succulence, was used as a drop trap to brain a hippopotamus, was used as a missile, and eventually was carelessly left near the bay, where Hook fell over it in the dark.  
> But a shorter adventure, and quite as exciting, was Tinker Vane's attempt, with the help of some street fairies, to have the sleeping Ginny conveyed on a great floating leaf to the mainland._

While the wording is modified in places, the substance of that is lifted straight from the book. Hook falling over the cake in the dark, "street fairies", the lot. The drop trap was mine, though, as was Tiger Ronni - I just reckoned it would be fun to cast Ron as Tiger Lily. The cake, by the way, was an assassination attempt devised by Hook in the book:

_"[The plan is] to return to the ship, and cook a large rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it. [...] We will leave the cake on the shore of the mermaids' lagoon. [...] They will find the cake and they will gobble it up, because, having no mother, they don't know how dangerous 'tis to eat rich damp cake. [...] Aha, they will die."_ \- (p. 61, _Peter Pan_, Penguin Popular Classics)

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> _It had started in a clearing some miles distant, where Tinker Vane often went with her friends to lounge about and indulge in antisocial behaviour, like wearing hoodies and flying around at all hours of the night singing loudly, or getting drunk and passing out on the path, or carrying concealed knives to rob elderly mayflies. The local law enforcement fairies dared not enter their sod for fear of the mean street fairies who dwelt there. Only the Procurator Fairy, Krupke, was tolerated by them, and even he was ridiculed._

These chavs are my idea of the "street fairies" alluded to by Barrie. Krupke, obviously, is a reference to _West Side Story_, as are the names of the fairies ("Jet" for the Jets and "Barracuda" for the Sharks).

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> _"Rohn, do you see Hook's wig?"  
> "That's a wig?"  
> "We must retrieve it and bring it back with us to London!"  
> "Why?"  
> "Do you not recognise it? It is the fabled Hair of Gryffindor!"_

What can I say? I just couldn't resist. I've been saving up that joke for ages.

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> _"Children, do you know who I am?"  
> "I know thee well, Sir," said Rohn, who had had a classical education. "Y'are a fishmonger." This remark appeared to rile Hook more than Rohn had anticipated, for Hook began pacing back and forth, muttering "Bloody codfish" under his breath. Then he stopped, and ceased his raving._

The codfish bit is obviously a reference to the codfish discussion in the book (which is far funnier in the book than any of the films: _"If you are Hook, come tell me, who am I?" "A codfish, only a codfish." "Have we been captained all this time by a codfish?" [his men] muttered._

The other bit is paraphrased from Shakespeare:

**POLONIUS:** "How does my good Lord Hamlet?"

**HAMLET:** "Well, God-a-mercy.

**POLONIUS:** "Do you know me, my lord?"

**HAMLET:** "Excellent well, y'are a fishmonger." - (_Hamlet_, Act 2 Scene 2)

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> _"I poisoned him earlier, left a whole box of poisoned chocolate cauldrons on his table. There is no way he could survive them, aha."_

The first part here is a reference to Romilda vane's choccie cauldrons, which technically are a poisoning attempt; the second is a reference to the "Aha, they will die" in The Great Cake Plan.

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> _'Red-Headed Gin'_

In the book, one of the characters contemplates being a pirate, and decides they would go by the name "Red-Handed Jack". In the 2003 film, IIRC, Wendy gets the line and calls herself "Red-Handed Jill". And of course, here's where Tawnick comes back in; everyone knows about gin &amp; tonic, right?

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> _"I do believe in fairies, I do..."_

This is a reference specifically to the silly chanting in the 2003 film; "I do believe in fairies, I do, I do". That's why I decided it would work... but only in the short term.

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> _he forgot all about Tinker Vane within a day, and never thought of her again._

In the book, Peter has a very short span of attention, so I reckoned he'd probably forget about Tink pretty quickly too.

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> _Harry winced and frowned, his face contorting as a stab of unfamiliar pain assailed his jaw. He poked his thumb and forefinger inside and withdrew the small tooth that had shaken loose; already, he felt, a new and larger one was growing in to take its place. He stared in disbelief at the tooth._

He's paused his growing up for many years; now he's growing up a great deal in one go. I could have gone into more detail - the idea is that he's aging from 10 to 17 in an hour or two - but I decided that it was unnecessary... particularly with the last line, which made things pretty clear. And yes, _that_ is what it means.


End file.
